


Sometimes Salty

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: The Domme Diaries [3]
Category: Aiden Hoynes - Fandom, The Politician's Husband
Genre: Bodily Fluids, F/M, Femdom, Hair-pulling, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pussy Worship, Squirting, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 16:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: A Domme Diaries interludeM loves opera, and Aiden loves her. She figures out a clever way to make her favorite liquor palatable to him.





	Sometimes Salty

The soprano’s otherworldly pianissimo filled their living room.

Although her eyes were closed, he dared not move.His knees were on fire. He stared at her, half naked and barefoot, sitting on her favorite armchair. He adored her that way, but the sight was rare even during their time alone.

Her hair, usually in a bun or a ponytail, was loose and curling over her breasts. Her dark nipples, erect and glossy with sweat, peaked through the tendrils. Her breaths were deep, and she sang softly, her kiss-bruised lips trembling. He moved closer, and his leash clicked. Her eyes opened. He dropped to all fours. Her lips curled into a grin. She pulled gently on the leash and tapped her thigh. He crawled to her, gladly.

“Listen, darling,” she said, running her fingers through his blond hair, then pulling so he would meet her gaze. His brown eyes watered, but he was exultant. The soprano’s voice swelled with deep emotion. “Can you tell it’s a prayer?”

He nodded. He didn’t much like opera - he couldn’t make sense of the plot through all the noise.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying to me,” she said, and let go. She pushed him away with one leg, hard. He grunted as he nearly flew across the floor. His stomach burned, but he suppressed a smile.

It was about time the game restarted.

“Oxford boy, but can’t stand anything proper. Impatient with theater. Despises good music.” She stretched languidly, and her robe fell all the way open. He whimpered at the sight of her. He could smell her from where he was, sweat and her sweet, sweet cunt. The insides of her thighs were slick.

His mouth watered.

“I hear what you listen to in the office. The goddamned Beatles. Jesus, I never thought you for one to mainline the Kool-Aid.”

They were his favorite. He got on his knees and looked down at the floor.

“Insufferable. Every mediocre note of it. Urgh.” She waved her hand and made a face.

She giggled at his body language.

“You wanna hold my hand?” she said, and beckoned to him. He crawled quickly to her again, but instead of taking it, she guided his hand between her legs. He made a funny squeak. All afternoon, he had not touched her. Her heat made him bow his head in her lap without being asked.She pinched his nipple and agony made him sit up again.

“Did I say you could taste?” she said.

He shook his head. Her fingers were still clamped on his nipple. She pinched the other one. He curled into himself, groaning. Her cheeks were flushed now. She sucked her teeth as her gaze dropped between his legs. His cock was swelling. At first, he had not been able to become aroused with pain only, but she was glad to see her training was working. If things went well, one day he would be able to orgasm with the expert application of pain. But not yet.

She caressed up his thigh with her foot, and very gently tickled his balls with her toes. He gasped. The steady pressure on his nipples was making him dizzy. He loved nipple torture. Her toes danced up his hardening shaft, making it bounce.

“Pet loves pain with his pleasure, yes? Speak.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She twisted his nipples. He grunted and arched. His eyes were glassy with pleasure. It made her want to weep with desire. She pinched his foreskin lightly between her toes and tugged. He quivered, and covered her toes with precum. She let go of his nipples and lifted her foot high.

“Look at that. You’ve gotten it all over my fresh pedicure,” she said, pouting. “Naughty boy.”

He had to focus to see. She wiggled her toes near his face, and the top of her foot was smeared with him.

“I’m sorry, M. Shall I clean it?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. He took her foot in his hand and slowly licked it off. She lay back and sighed. He dared to look at her. Her legs were spread wide, and she was beyond ready for him to serve her. Her pussy was swollen and dripping. He was beginning to ache for it.

She watched him watching her as his tongue swirled up to her ankle. His gaze was fascinating to her. It had not gotten old yet. This man - all steel and buttoned to the chin - looked up at her, his eyes large and importunate as a child’s. Saliva trailed on her skin as he stared hungrily at her cunt. She spread wider for him. His teeth grazed her ankle.

She grabbed the [tawse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tawse) on the table by her and struck his bicep. He groaned and let go of her ankle.

“You want to bite me?” she said, genuinely curious. He seemed as surprised as her.

“I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t thinking.”

“So when you don’t think, you bite?” She trailed the tawse down his flat belly. What a beautiful body he had, and his skin, pale and freckled, was smooth and ripe for marks.

“I’m thirsty,” he said. There was an edge of petulance to it. She stretched again, and stood up slowly. She leaned up against a side table and spread her legs.

“Come here.”

He crawled to her quickly, but stopped short before planting face first between her legs. She guided him closer. He could feel her furnace warmth on his cheeks.

“You’re thirsty for me?” she said, petting him.

“Yes,” he said, nodding.

“You want your treat?” she said, scratching lightly at his shoulders.

“Please,” he said softly, and licked his lips.

“But don’t you think I’m thirsty too?”

He looked up at her. Her eyes were sorrowful.

“What about _my_ treat? Should I reward you when you just tried to gnaw on me like a puppy?”

His heart dropped.

“No, M,” he said.

She caressed the smooth tops of his cheeks. He looked glorious - sweaty, with his hair in a tangle.

“I’m gasping for a drink,” she said, clapping her hands. “The good stuff. Pour me a glass, pet.”

He knew what she meant - the American single malt whiskey she had shipped every six months from Virginia. He retrieved the precious bottle and a glass and poured her two fingers.

“You’re born to serve, darling,” she said. He flushed with pleasure. She downed it in one gulp. He was mystified by her love of whiskey. He despised it. He despised most liquors, frankly - he preferred wine or beer. She handed him the glass again. “Another.” He poured another two fingers. “Just a splash more.” He obeyed.

She sat down and stared at the pale amber liquid. The Steuben glass splintered the liquor light citrine on her face. She sighed and put the glass on the table.

“Get my special wand. The heavy one.”

He sprinted to the bedroom and back, the curved wand in his hands.

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of her. “Come. Kneel.” He positioned himself between her legs, the wand held reverently in his hands.

“You want to serve me?” she said, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger.

“Yes, M,” he said. He loved the wand. With it, she could squirt torrents. And he wanted to bathe in her.

“But you were naughty earlier, trying to nibble on my foot,” she said. “I can’t let that slide, can I?” she shook her head.

“No,” he said.

“But I shouldn’t deprive myself,” she said, grabbing the wand. She rubbed the polished round end against his bruised nipple. It was cold and smooth. She pressed it to his lips. “Warm it for me.”

He took it in his mouth and sucked it. She pulled him closer to her chest as he worked his tongue over the bulbous end. She watched him, and for a few seconds, she lost her nerve. She wanted that tongue on her. She wrapped her legs lightly around his waist and ruffled his hair. His eyes met hers, and she smiled. She had an idea.

“I think it’s warm enough,” she said, pulling it from his mouth. “Go and get the shallow flower bowl on the dining room table.”

He went and came back quick, careful not to drop the smoked glass museum piece.

She pointed to the floor in front of the chair. “Put it here.” He obeyed, but he was curious. She sat, with legs spread and draped over the arms of the chair. She touched herself, spreading her lips wide for him to see her pink. Again, he whimpered.

“The only way this will work properly is if I have a preparatory orgasm,” she said, rubbing little circles on her clit. “Pity you’ve been bad…”

“Please let me help you. I’m sorry. I’ll never bite without permission again,” he said, dropping to his knees.

She nodded, and he crawled to her, his lips already parted to lick. She slapped his mouth, hard.

“No taste. Back straight, and bring those hips close.” He sucked on his bruised lip and did as he was told. She stroked him, slicking the pad of her thumb on his precum and rubbing it on his frenulum. He hardened quick, eyes pointed to the ceiling with bliss. She was good with her hands. When she tugged him forward to slide against her cleft, he grunted and snapped to attention. Her fingers dug painfully into the flesh of his hips.

“This isn’t for you, love. It’s for me,” she said. Her cunt lips wet him to the root. She guided him to slide against her, slowly. “You don’t get to come. If you are about to do it, you tell me, understood?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Now move how I like.”

He rubbed himself against her, his eyes tightly closed. She looked at him and chuckled at the spreading bloom of redness on his chest. Sex flush. Her gaze dropped to his belly. It flexed beautifully with each slow thrust. Each breath showed her the shelf of his ribs. She traced them, then scratched until there were red lines that converged at his heart.

He grunted. “Close-“

“Stop!”

He moved back. The head of his cock pulsed, dripping. He did not burst, but she was aching to.

“Open your eyes. Come here.” He came closer, and she gently fondled his balls. They tightened in her grip. He hissed.

“Hush. I’m very close, pet. Are you going help me come?”

“Any way you like, M.” His eyes were on her belly. If he looked at her pussy, he might not make it.

She crooked her finger. “Get inside me.” He whimpered sweetly. She smiled. “Slow. And no thrusting.”

They both watched as he entered her. Her head fell back. _That stretch_. His cock was beautiful. Her cunt twitched. He whimpered again - he felt it.

She rubbed her clit quick and hard. His eyes were tightly closed again.

“Watch me,” she said, feeling cruel. He looked at her, slack-mouthed, as she rolled her hips on his cock and touched herself. His lower lip began to quiver.

“Don’t you dare come. Bitch boy. Oxford twat-” she said through gritted teeth.His quivering lip had her on the edge. She slapped his mouth. His head snapped back, and his tongue snaked out slowly to lick the stinging skin. It was all she needed.

She bucked and groaned, grinding into him. His hands were clenched at his sides, but he did not succumb. It almost upset her, but the orgasm was too good to care.

She scratched at his belly. “Alright, pet. Now for the wand.” It was immediately in his hands. She grabbed him by the hair on his crown and brought him close. “Make my pussy weep like only you can. However many times it takes to fill that bowl,” she said.

He looked down at the bowl, then nodded.

“It will be a strike for every drop you waste,” she said, holding up the tawse. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, M.” She bit his lower lip, and sucked it until he groaned with the ache. She let go and sat back. He smiled as her cunt swallowed the business end of the warmed metal wand. He leaned in close.

“Hold on,” he said. And he winked.

Before she could speak he began to move the wand just how she liked, a quick in and out that had her gasping. She held on to the arms of the chair as he reamed the first orgasm from her in seconds. Clear liquid dripped from her cunt to the bowl.

“That was nothing,” he said, his face set. This time, he drew slow circles on her clit with his thumb as he fucked her with the wand. She started to tremble. He looked at her pussy with hungry eyes, and licked his lips. He knew what it did to her. He got closer, so she could taste his panting breaths.

“Make me wet,” he said softly, He ghosted his lips over hers, then licked her cupid’s bow. She darted forward to bite him, but he moved back quickly. His thrusts quickened. “Oh, I feel that,” he said. She was tightening. This orgasm would be bigger. He dared to lick one of her nipples.

She moaned and pressed his face to her breasts. He sucked, moaning into her flesh, his rhythm steady.

She curled into herself and came again. This time, there was some pressure - warm spray hit his lower belly, dripped off his cock, and into the bowl. It was almost enough, but she was already writhing. Her thighs flexed as she tried to close them around his hips.

“You said fill the bowl, M,” he said meekly. “I must obey.”

He started again, drunk with borrowed power. She was covered in sweat now, her belly drum-tight with arousal. He put an arm around her waist and licked her neck from clavicle to jaw. His pistoning arm burned, but he was high on her pleasure. He wondered what she would do with the precious liquid gathering in the bowl. His cock hardened with the possibilities.

“Bite me,” she said, her voice hoarse with passion. He sunk his teeth into her neck. She arched and came again, and he bowed to make it keep going, rubbing on her swollen clit and reaming at her clenching muscles until she was dripping and silent with sensation.

“No more,” she said, pushing him away weakly. “Jesus.”  She hugged her knees.

He caressed her until she was lax. She smiled. “Is the bowl full?”

He held it up carefully. Crystal clear liquid pooled in the bottom. She rose on wobbly legs and took the bowl from him. He watched in rapt curiosity as she walked to the side table where her second drink sat. She took a sip.

“Why don’t you like whiskey, pet?” she asked.

“It’s too strong. And it tastes like smoke. Sweet smoke.” He wrinkled his nose.

“What do I taste like?” she said, dipping her finger in the glass bowl. It was still warm.

“Heaven,” he said breathily.

“Come on, Oxford boy. Use your words.”

“Depends on the time of the month. Sometimes you’re almost berry sweet, or tart as apricot. I love apricot. Sometimes it’s straight musk that stays in the back of my throat. I adore that. Sometimes you taste like sweat. Salty. Sometimes it’s like lake water.”

“Lake water?” she said. She didn’t hide her pleasure at his words.

“Neither sweet or salty, and … clean. It happens when you’re really horny. That’s how I can tell.” He looked up at her. She had to push back the urge to take him in her arms. She tapped her knee, and he crawled to her. She poured the contents of the bowl into the whiskey. He watched as the two liquids swirled around each other. She mixed it with her finger. It went from amber to gold, like champagne.

“You said you were thirsty,” she said, holding the glass in front of his face. “Drink.”

He took the glass, daring to smell its contents. She had managed to cut down the sickly sweetness to a smoke that was enticing. He touched his lips to it. The burn was still there, but cut with a mildly salty caramel deliciousness. She ran her fingers through his hair as he drank it down, sip by sip, his eyes closed.

He drained the glass and licked his lips.

“Better?” she said.

“Delicious,” he said. The liquor burn bloomed in his chest, but he didn’t feel a bit of nausea. Her salt made him breathless. She sighed and straddled him, pushing him down to the floor.

“You are a good, good boy,” she said, licking his lips. They parted as she rubbed herself against him. His cock started to harden. “And good boys get treats.”

His hands moved to her hips to caress.

“Yeah?” he said softly.

“Oh yes,” she said as she sank onto him.


End file.
